


Path of the Sword-Saint

by Anchanted_One



Series: Final Fantasy 14 : Dawn and The Merry Sun [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Action & Romance, Angst, Bard - Freeform, Black Mage - Freeform, Dancer, Dark Knight, Dragoon, F/M, Gen, Multiple original characters - Freeform, Ninja, Paladin, Red Mage - Freeform, Samurai, White Mage - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22660468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anchanted_One/pseuds/Anchanted_One
Summary: This story focuses on Ryosen Yotsuba, Kensei (Sword Saint) of the Far East.Ryosen is one of the refugees of Doma who enters Eorzea seeking asylum alongside Yugiri Mistwalker. Helpless and abandoned in Eorzea, far too distant from their homeland of Doma, they find allies in the Scions of the Seventh Dawn and the Legion of the Merry Sun, and in gratitude pledge their undying support for the only ones freely to offer their friendship in this faraway continent.
Relationships: Minfilia Warde/Original Character(s), Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)/Original Character(s)
Series: Final Fantasy 14 : Dawn and The Merry Sun [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1630252
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	1. Refugee Saint

**Author's Note:**

> Ryosen is not a Chosen of Hydaelyn, that is he does not bear the Blessing of Light.

* * *

**Vesper’s Bay**

The day began as it always did in the port town of Vesper’s Bay; with the screaming of gulls, the setting up of stalls, and the opening of businesses in the salty breeze coming from the sea. Fishing and merchant boats prepared to leave the harbor, and some few ships bearing passengers came in to dock. But as Urianger Augurelt—the resident scholar, researcher, and archivist of the secret society named Scions of the Seventh Dawn—stepped out into the morning, he noted one in particular for the white flag it bore.

There were four who disembarked from this skiff. The Vessel’s name was painted in an elegant and artistic but foreign script, and there would be none in Vesper’s Bay who could understand the word. Two—a Hyuuran man and a woman, clearly attendants or retainers—wore simple workmen’s jerkins of deep blue. 

But the other two were far more conspicuous. One was a small woman wearing a bluish-purple hood and veil over robes of a similar shade, robes through which a long, white tail protruded. 

That she wore armored boots did not escape Urianger’s careful scrutiny, nor the subtle bulges under her robes which suggested that the rest of her was likewise armored. A pair of short blades were sheathed in her belt.

But it was the final traveller who sank any attempts his comrades might have made at inconspicuity. He was well over two meters tall, and wore an obsidian-black horned mask to cover most of his upper face. A wide-brimmed hat sat atop his head, with small tied bells that chimed gently in the wind. His hands held a long, thick bamboo flute raised to his lips, which he used to play a soothing melody that brought a hush over the docks as the many passersby flocked to listen. A long curved sword was sheathed in a decorated and beautiful red lacquered scabbard at his belt. At the sight, Urianger had to stifle a gasp, for he recognized it as a katana wielded by the Samurai of the East. This particular one was of especially exquisite craftsmanship.

This was not just any ordinary Samurai, and these were clearly no ordinary travellers.

The woman lithely hopped onto a nearby crate and addressed those gathered, her voice wary and hesitant but strong.

“My good townsfolk. We hail from Doma, far across the sea. Many moons have we sailed, and we would speak with the Ruler of this land. Who is it among you, that speaks for you? Can you point the way for us?”

All in the crowd looked at one another, mumbling to each other quietly. There was no word of response, but the many shaking heads and shrugged shoulders were enough to make the woman bow her head slightly, in frustration or disappointment. Her Hyuuran companions looked openly crestfallen, while the tall Samurai’s tune continued for a few more minutes before ending.

The woman who had spoken up turned to her comrades and a whispered conversation began.

Silent as the wind, Urianger walked up to them, holding up an open palm in greeting when they turned to face him. 

“Many greetings dear travellers from faraway Doma, and welcome to Vesper’s Bay. You stand in the realm of Sultana Nanamo of Ul’dah. I am called Urianger Augerelt, and I can arrange for your transport to the City, where the guards can show you to the Council. But you have already come a long way, and I would be remiss if I didn’t offer you some refreshments ere you depart, for I do sense that your labours are far from ended.”

* * *

**The Quicksand Tavern,** **  
** **Ul’dah**

The tavern that doubled as headquarters of the Adventurer’s Guild in Ul’dah, wealthiest city of Eorzea was all the more lively for it; this was where many roads met; the starting and finishing lines of officially issued quests and adhoc adventures. The patrons all mingled and gossiped freely over the mouth-watering dishes and rich ale, the aromas of which was powerful enough that, coupled with the popularity of the tavern, allowed few passersby to pass by without dropping in.

Alphinaud Leveilleur gave his most reassuring smile to his guests. “I apologize again for your reception at the Royal Promenade. My Lady…?”

“Forgive me,” the veiled lady bowed her head. “My name is Yuugiri, and this is Kensei- _ sama _ ,” she said, indicating the Samurai with her, who bowed.    
“Please, call me Ryosen,” he said in a soft voice.   
“And these are Kasasaki and Kikyo,” Yugiri finished, indicating the two Hyuur attendants.

“A pleasure to meet you all,” Alphinaud said politely. “My name is Alphinaud, and my friends here are Erika and Desmond.”

In contrast to his arrival in Vesper’s Bay, the Samurai called Ryosen stuck out far less, here. He had wrapped himself in a tall, loose, frayed cloak, and his katana was worn more discreetly, somehow. His flute was fastened to his cloth belt just above his scabbard. Like Yugiri, he also wore a veil rather than the mask, which Alphinaud took as confirmation to Urianger’s belief that the samurai had dressed specially to seek attention at the docks.

When Urianger had informed him of the arrival of a Samurai, Alphinaud had sensed a golden opportunity. He had quickly sought out the Merry Sun Legion—who were quickly being hailed as the new Warriors of Light—and secured Erika Rider and Desmond Holmes as an escort. The Legion as a whole were gifted at exploiting opportunities and striking gold, with these particular two bearing Hydaelyn’s Blessing, which afforded them the useful ability to understand any foreign languages, as well as occasionally glimpse into people’s past.

They had found the Domans at the Royal Promenade where—predictably—the Sultansworn had refused them their urgent petition to meet the Sultana and the Council. Alphinaud had shown sympathy, and offered to hear their story and see what help he could afford them.

And so it was that the young white-haired Elezen and his companions sat at a private booth in the Quicksand inn with the travellers from Doma. 

All four Domans courteously inclined their heads.

“We have come from the faraway Doma, which is on the continent of Othard, far across the sea,” Yuugiri continued. “We have come seeking asylum.”

“Asylum?” Alphinaud asked. “Has something bad happened in your homeland?”

Yugiri’s shoulders slumped, and when she replied, her voice was stricken. “As I’m sure you know, Doma was under the dominion of the Garlean Empire. We had been for some time now. But when the War for Succession broke out in Garlemard, we espied an opportunity to free ourselves from the yoke of Imperial rule. We took up arms against them… only to be crushed. I gathered those I could who had escaped the slaughter, and led them hither to Eorzea.”

“A War for Succession?” Erika blurted, when she could finally speak again. “That would mean that Emperor Solus zos Galvus… is dead. And has been for some time.”    
_ How did Eorzea not know about this? _ She wondered in a barely audible whisper.

“Forgive me,” Alphinaud interjected, injecting a note of concern into his voice. “But you refer to Doma in the past tense. You don’t mean that…” His tension was betrayed in how tightly he gripped his silver-haired braid.

“Aye,” Yugiri said. “Doma is gone. Most of it has been razed to the ground as an example to other provinces.”

For a few minutes they ate in silence. 

“And what of your people?” Desmond asked, pushing away his plate. Unlike the others, he hadn’t eaten a bite since hearing about the fate of the Doma. “How many still live? Have you brought them all here with you?”

“Aye,” Ryosen confirmed. “As many as we could find. But we don’t know if any others still live. So many dead… scattered… and even more still left behind in Doma to live like maggots under a sadistic Deputy Viceroy. We were forced to abandon so many…”

“You nonetheless saved almost two thousand of our people from the sword, Kensei- _ sama _ ,” Yugiri said bracingly. “Every last one of us owes you our lives.”

“Two thousand?” Alphinaud asked. While it was good that so many were saved, the lords of Ul’dah might be even less inclined to offer asylum to so many.

“That’s right Master Alphinaud,” Yugiri said. “Although many of them did not survive the journey, difficult since it was. Aboard a small fleet of ships anchored off the shore of Vesper’s Bay. They will not return until I send the word. Many of them fought with us in the rebellion. Others were complicit, or kin to those who were.”

“We sought an audience with the ruling Council,” Ryosen said steadily. He held a cup full of steaming earl stoneleaf tea to his lips, behind the veil; a cup that he had drained and refilled twice already. “Hoping to secure a home—even temporarily—for our people. But we were turned away.”

“The Council is made up of elites of the Monetarists, the merchant class,” Alphinaud said with measured disdain. “They are not wont to invest their ‘valuable’ time on anything which doesn’t benefit them. Not unless suitably encouraged.”

“Indeed,” Ryosen said, placing the empty cup back on the table, not reaching for a new refill. “Nor are they without their own troubles, I’m sure. We noticed the tents and slums outside the walls—clearly we were not the first to come here seeking refuge.”

“Nor shall you be the last,” Erika chimed in. “If the Empire continues along its present path.”

“Even so,” Yugiri said. “We had no choice but to try, for our stores have been all but depleted. We have children and sick in urgent need of attention.”

“Ul’dahans are no friends of Garlemald, and your tale would move the hearts of many” Alphinaud promised. “I can see to it that you are afforded the audience you seek.”

The Domans all looked up as one. “Truly?” Yugiri said. “You would do this for us?” 

“We would be greatly in your debt!” Ryosen said.

“Not to boast,” Alphinaud said, blushing. “But I do have some influence. However,” he cautioned, turning dead serious again “That my influence does not hold any sway over the Council. They will not be easily persuaded.”

“If I may make a suggestion,” Erika added. “The veils might invoke feelings of mistrust. It might serve you to remove them during the audience.”

  
  


* * *

Desmond was pleasantly surprised by what the veiled lady Yugiri looked like unmasked. An exotic beauty with skin white as lily-petals and eyes green like emeralds in the sun. Pearly white scales adorned her cheeks, and the pointed bulges in her veil that he had taken for ears like an Elezen’s or a Miqo’te were in fact, slender horns. Her tail was also scaly, and ended in a point. Highly reminiscent of a dragon, one could say.

The draconic comparison seemed even more apt when describing Ryosen. Though he did have the horns and scales that marked him of a similar race as Yugiri’s—Raen Au Ra, they had explained—he was very different in appearance. His skin was a coarse honey-brown, weather-beaten and tanned in comparison. His features were also far more angular and sharper than hers, from his tall forehead to his straight blade-like nose. Even his blazing blue eyes seemed devoid of curvature, almost shaped like daggers. And he was remarkably tall whereas she was of a similar build to Erika. So alike, yet so different. One did not see such a stark dimorphism even among the Roegadyn.

It was at noon the next day that the Council gathered to hear their petition, Nanamo sitting in her throne looking every bit her title of Sultana. Around her were gathered the most powerful of the elite Merchant class who made up the Council.

After exchanging the expected pleasantries, Yugiri began to speak. 

About how their Shinobi had discovered the death of Emperor Solus—almost before the highest echelons of Garlemard itself did. How, during the chaos of the power vacuum a war for succession had begun. How her Lords Kaien—the former king of Doma—and his son Hien, had judged the time ripe to rise up and expel their tyrannical rulers. Of the taking of Doma castle and Castrum Fluminis and then large parts of the entire nation itself—only for their momentum to be shattered when Zenos yae Galvus, great-grandson of Emperor Solus and Viceroy of Doma, led a Legion to Doma where the rebels were most brutally massacred. 

She spoke of the desperate last stand in the keep of Doma Castle where King Kaien—a master of the sword—was bested and slain with contemptuous ease by Viceroy Zenos, and how only a last minute appearance of a wandering swordsman—Kensei- _ sama _ —who held the pass alone against impossible odds in a one-man rearguard action, and the ships his comrades had secured for the evacuation of the survivors.

She ended with a plea for sanctuary. “It is our hope that you allow us to dwell within your walls. Should that prove unfeasible however, I humbly ask that you at least accept as many of my people as your resources allow.” 

Throughout the duration of her tale, she and the two Hyuur attendants bowed to the council, like in submission. Ryosen however did not, though he was seated on his knees. But his back was straight and his head was held high enough to keep a watch not only on the council, but also their guards.

And though the Samurai’s hands were both resting on his knees, Desmond was certain that the man could have his katana drawn and at least a dozen guards slain should it prove necessary. Not that it would even come close, but Desmond could accept that the man, far from his home, couldn’t be certain of that.

Looking again at the other Domans, he didn’t see near the same level of vigilance.

“Pray understand, we do not beg a boon, but propose an arrangement. Our people would serve—as soldiers, craftsmen, and labourers—until our debt is repaid.” 

All were silent once Yugiri was finished, and Desmond thought that even the likes of Lolorito Nanarito and Dewlala Dewla, though the masks made him feel less certain. It was Raubahn Aldynn, the grizzled foreign leader of Ul’dah’s Grand Company, the Immortal Flames, who was the first to speak.

“How many of your people do you speak for, Lady Yugiri?”

“We escaped with one thousand, nine hundred and seventy-five souls, in all. But many died of disease and starvation during the long voyage in cramped quarters. Three hundred and twenty seven were lost, so that leaves one thousand, six hundred and forty-eight, including we who have come before you.”

Ryosen spoke up. “They are currently aboard one galleon and seven brigs. There are enough sailors and carpenters among our number, so the ships are only a little worse for wear following our long voyage. They would go a long way in repaying you, though we do ask to keep a few of the smaller brigs in reserve for us to scavenge. The wood can be used for building a settlement. Perhaps we can even house your other refugees here.”

“Ha!” A merchant wearing an ebony black turban snorted. “Moons of sailing while overflowing with smelly refugees? I doubt these ships are even worth the cost of scrapping them!”

“But there are sections of the city still damaged from the Seventh Umbral Calamity,” said Teledji Adeji, owner of the Mirage trust. “And these refugees strike me as an industrious sort!”

“Oh, be not so blind, Teledji!” Lolorito sneered. “Our streets are still filled with refugees from not only the Calamity but also Ala Mihgo! They barely subsist thanks to handouts from the Immortal Flames, the cost for which grows ever higher! And need I remind the council of the alarming rise in crime rates and violence brought by these refugees? Not that it’s surprising, for people do desperate things when they’re desperate; they take what they imagine has been unjustly denied them! The Brass Blades and Immortal Flames are taxed enough as it is. And as for the question of building another settlement, we don’t want another Little Ala Mihgo staining our grasslands, if you please!” 

Desmond looked at the man with concealed disgust. Perhaps the Lalafell hadn’t been moved so much as a mite after all.

“Watch your mouth Lolorito!” One of the Lalafell—a shifty male wearing his hair in a topknot, and his golden robes tailored in a Far Eastern style—cried pompously. “This man was introduced as ‘ _ Kensei _ ’—which roughly translates to ‘Sword-Saint’! It is a title far more illustrious and prestigious than all of us combined could ever accomplish! It is only given to the most gifted of swordsmen, with its bearers being considered to be of such skill far surpassing human ability! I don’t think there have been more than three bearing that title in the last six hundred years! Such is its prestige! He deserves the sort of respect reserved for kings!”

“None at all in  _ our _ Council chambers, then!” mocked Lolorito haughtily, though everyone in the room—including the belligerent Merchant himself—were staring at the Samurai sitting still as a statue before them. All was silent for a few minutes.

“Lord Lolorito,” Nanamo spoke up in her high pitched voice. “I acknowledge that our resources aren’t limitless, but surely the gift of the ships and the offer to build their own settlement... even if it be temporary… would not tax us overmuch. Surely we can accommodate them?”

“We had a similar debate some years ago, as I recall,” Lolorito all but sang. “About the Ala Mihgans. What were your words then? ‘The law is the law’? Perhaps our wise and benevolent sultana might enlighten us as to which other of our laws should not be upheld?”

“Mind your tongue, Lord Lolorito!” Raubahn barked, his rock hard face stern enough to make an entire army hesitate, and the Lalafell quieted down instantly. “Given the urgency of the situation, I ask that we vote on whether or not to grant asylum to the Domans as soon as we can. We can deal with other laws later. Those in favour: remain. Those opposed, I bid you leave.”

Without another second wasted, Lolorito stood up and walked away. More than two-thirds of the council followed him, leaving Yugiri’s shoulders slumped. 

Among those who remained were Teledji, the Chief Foreman of the Amajina and Sons Mineral Concern, and Godbert Manderville, but the Lalafell who had spoken in defense of Ryosen— although it had been of Ryosen alone—was not among them.

Nanamo walked up to Yugiri—who knelt so that the small-statured Sultana didn’t have to crane her neck—and took her arms in hers. “Forgive me, Lady Yugiri. Would that it were within my power to welcome you and your people. As you can see, despite being Sultana, my powers are limited in this regard.”

“Oh! Er- well, that is to say—” Yugiri was flustered. Probably, Desmond thought, more because the Sultana had taken hold of her hands and not because of her words. “Please, I understand! And believe me, I am grateful for your speaking up on our behalf!”

Raubahn stood a step behind his beloved Sultana. “With the Empire’s threat less immediate, they see less reason for unity. The Syndicate, and Lord lolorito in particular, have been growing more defiant as of late. But this isn’t the time for such a conversation.”

* * *

Yugiri and her companions were back in the private booth at the Quicksand. The Domans were a subdued group, quietly picking at their food. The rich aromas of the food around them was not enough to tease their appetite, nor the generally content atmosphere and ambience enough to raise their spirits. They would rest in the Quicksand till dawn, and leave for Vesper’s Bay, to return to their people with the bad news.

The woman Erika had asked if she and Desmond could join them, and were sharing the booth with them even now. They hardly spoke, offering solace through their solidarity rather than words, for which Yugiri was deeply grateful.

About fifteen minutes after they’d sat down, the shifty little lalafell with the topknot walked in, tailed by bodyguards and attendants who were, like him, dressed in the fashion of the Far East. Two of the bodyguards wore katanas at their hips—something which would at one time have elicited anger from the Domans, but which today was only barely noticed.

“Greetings again, my good Doman friends,” the man said with a wide smile. “My name is Garumi Borofumi. I was at the Council meeting earlier.”

“Greetings, Lord Borofumi,” Kensei said cautiously, speaking up because he was obviously the one who interested the merchant most. “Please, be seated. Would you like to eat with us?”

“Thank you for the invitation,” Borofumi smiled. “But I have rather more refined tastes than what is offered here in the Quicksand. I wished to apologize for not being able to help you earlier. You see, although I am as wealthy as Lolorito or Teledji, I am not a member of the Syndicate Council, for I only rarely live in Ul’dah anymore. While I was able to secure a seat as a guest at the table today by virtue of mine influence, I could not cast a vote in any matters of even passing importance.”

“We understand, Lord Borofumi,” Kensei said politely. “But it’s alright. The vote was lost by a wide margin. A few extra in our favour wouldn’t have been able to turn it.”

“Quite so,” the merchant agreed. “But there is another way I can help you.”

The Domans and their friends were all listening now. Yugiri felt her heart pounding, only daring to hope.

“You say you are nearly out of supplies: I can provide you with those,” the merchant said. He pulled a scroll out of his sleeve and unfurled it. “Food, water, and medicine. Enough to last six weeks. The manpower and carts to transport them to Vesper Bay, and then load them onto your ships. And an additional twenty thousand  _ Gil _ for when you might need it. All of this… In exchange for your Katana, Kensei- _ sama _ . I am a collector, you see, a lover of the culture and arts of the Far East, and the sword of a Kensei would be my most prized treasure. Especially  _ this _ sword.”

The Eorzean adventurers were profoundly delighted at what they clearly saw was a miraculously favourable bargain but the Domans all felt far more unpleasantly blindsided. Yugiri felt her blood boiling, and her face contorted into a snarl, and—courtesy or no, foolhardy or no—prepared to strike down the beady-eyed little merchant for what was essentially the most cruel of insults he could have aimed at Kensei- _ sama _ .

But the Sword Saint was the first to recover. He took the parchment and carefully read its contents, then smiled.    
“Done,” he said. He stood up, pushing away his meal, and removed his sword and sheath from his hip in one fluid motion. Holding it in both hands, palms facing upwards, and bowing low, he offered his sword  _ Thunderclap _ —an ancient and storied treasure—like it was an ordinary kitchen-knife.

The documents were signed by both parties and the sword was exchanged for a down payment of a twenty thousand  _ Gil _ in diamonds, sapphires, and rubies, along with a promissory note guaranteeing the remainder of the not-inconsiderable payment. One of the attendants—who was not beholden to Borofumi himself but rather to the Syndicate, and was an official who oversaw and recorded transactions—placed the Syndicate seal on the documents and then grinned broadly.

“Thank you, Lord Borofumi, Ryosen- _ dono _ . This transaction has been recorded and finalized. Ryosen- _ dono _ , if you find the payment in any way unsatisfactory, you may only provide these documents within the next twenty one days, and you will be able to address the Syndicate courts with your grievance.”

With that, the entire procession left, Borofumi happily admiring his newest purchase.

“I know what you wish to say, Yugiri- _ sama _ ,” Kensei said with a smile. “And I know what I was doing. No treasure is so valuable that it outweighs the needs of more than a thousand people. We now have supplies enough for over three months! We can at least return to our people knowing that this effort wasn’t for naught. I would be happy to make such an exchange again if it means securing the well-being of our people.”

But Yugiri noticed that his smile was a touch forced, his voice a little too exuberant, and guessed what it must have cost him to give away his most cherished possession, something most Samurai considered an insult to give up no matter the price. The Eorzeans remained silent, apparently aware that the exchange had been far less favorable than they had initially thought. 

Averting his gaze back to the food, Kensei- _ dono _ resumed his meal with feigned gusto. “I shall need a new weapon before we leave, although we have more than enough funds for a spear and an ordinary longsword.”

At precisely this moment, Alphinaud—who had left to answer an urgent Linkshell communication once the vote had been settled—returned with a broad smile.

“Yugiri- _ sama _ . Ryosen- _ dono _ . I was just contacted by Minfilia, Ascendant of our Order. We have a proposal for you!”

* * *

Desmond felt that the mood at the table had been completely turned around; the meal had been resumed with profoundly more cheer. Minfilia—Hydaelin bless her—had spoken to the Leader of the Adventurer’s Guild at Mor Dhona—for he also doubled as the unofficial Sheriff of the frontier town—and secured a place for the fleeing Domans in Revenant's Toll.

As the town was still growing, and was mostly composed not of builders and laborers, but of adventurers, soldiers, scholars, and those merchants who traded with Ishgard in the North, it could easily accommodate the refugees who were—by Yugiri’s own earlier offer—more than capable of helping the town in those roles. And now they had the provisions to make the trip north.

But as they left the booth and headed for their rooms, he couldn’t help but notice that Ryosen’s gait was slightly off-balance, as though the lack of the familiar weight of the sword was making itself known. 

“There is a saying in Orthiad,” Yugiri’s voice whispered behind him. “That once a child is given their Katana, it will never be out of arm’s reach. Never. It is either buried with them, or passed down through their lineage. For it to be lost is a mark of great shame, one which can even be cause for  _ seppuku _ , or our ritual suicide. Kensei- _ sama _ tries to laugh it off, but I fear his sacrifice will haunt him for the rest of his life. I fear for him.”

“It is one thing to give up your life for those you believe in,” Erika whispered admiringly from Yugiri’s other side. “And another entirely to make such an intense sacrifice, then live with the consequences for decades. What he did was so very noble!”

“And I don’t think you should worry overmuch,” Alphinaud added. “I sense Ryosen- _ dono _ will never regret his decision, no matter how much it hurts. He has proven that he can and will give up anything if it is to serve his people, and so long as they thrive, he will remain content. Only show him that you and your people value his sacrifice—make the most of it—and he should come to terms with it unaided.”

“To serve his people,” Kikyo said in a faraway voice. “In our tongue. ‘Samurai’ is derived from a word meaning ‘to serve’.”

“And he is a saint after all, too,” Desmond mumbled.

* * *

  
  



	2. Road to Mor Dhona

* * *

A long caravan had stopped for a short rest from the late afternoon sun in the shadow of a cliff. The caravan drivers were feeding and watering their Chocobos, the children were stretching their legs and playing while they could, while the adult passengers went about cooking or serving food, others making ready to clean up afterwards, while many others simply took this time to train. They were a diligent people—these refugees from Doma. Each one had an assigned role, and they performed them without a word of complaint, and to the best of their abilities.

There was a single large group performing drills on an open field, their shouts echoing across the Savannah. Others paired up for sparring practice, brandishing wooden training weapons which were worn from use but nevertheless well-maintained and polished. 

It was one such pair at the very head of the caravan which had drawn quite a crowd of eager onlookers; for these were among the most respected warriors in the land; their skills were already the stuff of legend. 

Ryosen Yotsuba—Samurai Blademaster—, and Erika Rider—Captain of the Merry Suns, a Warrior of Light, and a chosen of Hydaelyn.

Erika performed a rapid half-twist to change the trajectory of her wooden training sword mid-swing. Ryosen deflected it without even losing a beat. Next, she raised her blade high above her right shoulder and chopped down, using the momentum of her swing to pirouette and repeat the same attack thrice. She didn’t expect the blows to get through his defense, but hoped to wear him down a little. At the end of the third swing, she pulled the sword into a low guard at her side then pounced, throwing the entire weight of her body behind a thrust, only for the Samurai to evade her blow completely, even throwing her off balance with a swift push in the small of her back. Landing on three limbs a dozen yalms away, she spun around and ran on crouching low, sticking as close to the ground as she could, then launched herself upwards again when she was close enough, she stabbed at his ankles, legs, and kidneys. When he parried the attacks with ease she jumped up high, shifting her angles of attack from low to high. She had also positioned herself carefully before leaping, and the sun was behind her when she attacked from up high. Behind her, and right in Ryosen’s eyes.

But her gambit—desperate, foolish, but inventive—failed; for in leaping, she had momentarily left herself wide open, and the eastern swordsman had struck. She felt a rap on both her ankles that made her scream “Yeeeeeowch!!!” like a cat whose tail she had stepped on.

She landed on her backside, losing her last shreds of dignity. “Owwieee... that really hurt!” She complained. The tears that had sprung from her eyes, and her hurt tone were playfully exaggerated, of course. Such was her way.

But damn he was so serious! Most of the Domans were, but he was the serious-est of the lot. At least out in the open. Appearances and time-and-place seemed to matter much in their culture.

She pretended to wilt under his glower, and he relented with a rueful laugh. “Another round?” he asked

“And I just can’t seem to beat you,” she shot back. “Maybe I should stop our little duels. I have a reputation to think about. I’m a great Hero, you know? I am the one who killed Ifrit. I fought Titan and Garuda. I was vital in the fight against Ultima. If people see the great Hero Erika being tossed like a salad, they’ll lose confidence!”

“If it matters so much, then beat me!” Ryosen said. “There are no shortcuts for champions, O Mighty Grated Hero!”

“That’s ‘Great Hero’!” Erika protested. “Don’t you think I’m great?”

“Hmmm,” Ryosen seemed to mull that one over. “Tough question. I need time to think. Maybe after another five rounds?”

But she’d had enough teasing for now. “Tell me _now_!” she hissed, renewing her assault on the grinning samurai.

* * *

Ryosen shifted sleepily in his bedroll. He felt content for now. His people were safe. They had survived his failure to act sooner, and their continued survival was now secure for the immediate future. Everything else… well. That would come later.

Since the Domans now had a place to stay—thus not needing the added price of having to provide them with living space—Lolorito’s East Aldenard Company had shown interest in the ships they had mentioned during their audience, with shipwrights admitting that the ships were in good enough repair that the company bought them for a good price. Coupled with the deal he had received for _Thunderclap_ , they had enough to comfortably move their people to faraway Revenant’s Toll.

It had been a month since that day, yet Ryosen still felt numb from the loss. He dearly missed the familiar weight of his Katana. Wearing any other sword felt wrong somehow—a lie and a sin—so he had opted to wear a wooden _Bokken_ instead. It was so like in weight that he no longer felt his balance thrown off. But he had never realized before just how much his sword had come to mean to him over the years. He had known that the parting would hurt, but not this much.

 _Thunderclap is gone_ he thought for the umpteenth time, and fought the wave of sorrow that always accompanied the thought. A Katana was a samurai’s soul. Once he was given one—truly given one—it was to be at their side till they died. To give it up—for any price—was a grave dishonor, one that demanded ritual suicide. But he didn’t take that route. So long as he could serve his people, he would. But that feeling didn’t stop the sorrow. He tried to soothe his pain the only way he knew how—practicing the sword, and playing his _Shakuhachi_.

He spent all day walking at the head of the caravan with the flute at his lips. When the caravan halted—either for lunch, to water the Chocobos, or to camp for the night—he would draw the wooden sword for training. He tried to hide his grief from his fellow Domans, not wanting them to blame themselves for it. But when even the children offered him their earnest condolences even he had to admit that he had failed at his attempt at appearing unconcerned. 

Depression setting in, he had sought solace in the company of Eorzea's Hero squadron, the Merry Suns. When the caravan moved they rode and talked together; when it halted for some rest they would train together; and when the caravan had halted for the day they would sleep in the same tent together.

Between the animated discussions and intense duels, he was left so exhausted after each day that he rarely had time to stew in his swampy thoughts. Across the tent, Erika stirred and coughed, opening her large, mismatched eyes once the fit had passed. “What time is it?” She whispered, not wanting to wake the others.

“We have another half hour before the wakeup call,” Ryosen answered, checking the clock.

“Couldn’t I have waited till then ‘fore waking?” She grumbled. “Now I’ve got to rise. No choice.”

“But you can take your time with it,” Ryosen responded patiently. “Take time to ensure that you are happy with your appearance. Look the part of ‘Great Hero’ before I start beating you again.”

“Oho, just you wait, Mr Bigshot,” she grimaced. “One day, I am going to wipe that smug smile off your face.”

“Not at this rate, you’re not.”

“Oh if you think days are long now, just wait till you reach Revenant’s Toll! Settling in so many people will be a sizable undertaking by itself. Are you sure you don’t want to join the Merry Suns? You can do all of the fun stuff like fighting and adventuring and inn hopping; your people are more than capable of settling in on their own.”

Ryosen tried to hide the shadow that crossed his face. “I can’t, Erika. I appreciate the offer, I really do. But… I have my reasons.”

“Well, if you’re certain,” she said. He was grateful that she never pried. “We should reach Coerthas by evening the day after tomorrow. Another week or two and before we reach Revenant’s Toll.”

“I cannot wait to see it.”

* * *

Just as Erika had promised, the caravan neared Coerthas; with every step they seemed to go deeper into another world. Ryosen watched with fascination as the forests of Gridania gave way to a more mountainous climate, the land covered in a moderate layer of snow. The wind was cold and unending, but Ryosen could almost swear that its lonely whistle had a pensive melody to it. And of course, the people were also different. They seemed to embody the mountains they dwelled in; cold and stony, proud and strong. But past the surface, there were those among them who were very kind and accommodating as well.

The Domans were touched when the Knight Haurchefant rode out from his outpost to meet them, and offer them a feast in their honor. He was kind and jovial, and very free with his admiration for what the Domans had endured. The food and drink they offered was succulent and hot, and Ishgardian hospitality was much warmer than their demeanor suggested.

They even offered an escort the remainder of the way, to Revenant’s Toll.

But there was also a less welcome surprise for them late that night. 

* * *

Erika was startled out of her sleep by a persistent knocking at the door… wait, door? Ah yes… they were sleeping in a cabin tonight... She was taking a little too much time to wake today. And she felt so groggy! What time was it?

“It’s two in the morning,” Ryosen grumbled, echoing her thoughts. “This must be important!”

“It had better be,” Erika complained. “I’m not up for yet another fetch request right now!”

“Rhalgr forbid,” Desmond shuddered as he entered. “Erika, we have been summoned to Limsa Lominsa post haste! Since the Admiral called for us specifically, it’s possible we are dealing with another Primal!”

“Again? Didn’t we just slay Titan?” 

“I know not the details Riki, only that we must leave within the next hour.”

“Fine,” Erika mumbled. “Sorry Ryosen. It seems duty calls me away already. Our ways must part sooner than expected.”

“No need to apologize, Riki,” Ryosen waved his hand. “I understand duty. But pray tell me; what is a Primal?”

Erika was surprised by the question. “You have never heard of one before? Well, they are god-like beings summoned by the beastmen tribes, and their very existence drains the land of Aether. For that reason alone, not to mention their destructive nature, I fear we must banish them whenever they rise up.”

“It indeed seems a dance we are destined to repeat without end,” Desmond said, running his hand through his hair in frustration.

“God-like beings? Perhaps they are like the _kami_ of the beastmen?” Ryosen wondered. But he forestalled further discussion by quickly shaking his head. “Oh, I beg your pardons! Your summons were urgent after all. Pray, do not let me keep you.”

* * *

And so it was that the Domans embarked on the last leg of their journey without the Chocobos of the Merry Suns at their head. To most of the refugees, this did not have any effect at all; Many were, after all, learned in the arts of war, and were more than a match for the few bandits foolish enough to attack the column. 

No, the one who felt their absence most keenly was their greatly respected Samurai. Ryosen found himself unexpectedly left alone with—and at the mercy of—his thoughts. As the week dragged on, he found himself increasingly sour and moody, but unable to cope. Although he constantly felt their eyes on him, he spoke little to his fellow refugees, for when he did, he would invariably get the sense that they felt guilty for his sacrifice. 

It was common knowledge after all how a Samurai was never to be parted with his Katana. He didn’t blame them one bit; he had made his choice of his own free will. He had bought them food and comfort at a price that had more sentimental value than real. For if a Samurai’s sword was worth his life, then were not a thousand lives worth more than a single sword? This was no different from dying in combat. He was proud to have served the Domans as he had, after having taken so long to act in the first place.

No, part of his misery was born from his belief that he had not made his decision sooner. Had he ignored Bishamonten _-sama_ ’s order and joined the rebellion sooner—even by a few days—he might have saved these people much hardship. While he also keenly felt the loss of his prized sword, he was even more depressed by how it could have saved more lives than it had if only he’d had the courage to act sooner.

Plagued by his ill thoughts, Ryosen was often unaware of his surroundings for many hours at a time, and so the changes in scenery seemed all the more stark and marvelous to him when he noticed them.

As the path progressed from Coerthas east and then south again to Mor Dhona, these mountains seemed to be painted by a different palette of colors entirely. Large pillars of Aether Crystals of different colors jutted out from the ground, stretching out towards the heavens and gleaming in the beams of the sun. Whenever he was able to, Ryosen watched with deep fascination as the crystals refracted light at hundreds of different angles, illuminating the rocks around them in a plethora of light and colors. Nighttime changed their beauty, but did not necessarily diminish it; for in the dark the crystals glowed with an inner radiance of their own. For all the world, they appeared as though fires of different colors were partially crystallized, with their cores still burning merrily within.

The land gave him something to focus and meditate on, and at such times he found himself again content and free from his depressed thoughts. The sights he witnessed even inspired him to return to a discarded hobby—composing poetry and writing philosophy. Focusing his mind to his new pastimes, Ryosen managed to find a measure of peace again. A measure that improved tenfold by Yuugiri’s discovery of his work, and her earnest request for him to be more public about his writings.

His verses quickly became the talk of the caravan not only for who the composer was, but also for his style and skill. By popular demand, he even read out his poems aloud during dinner the last few days of the journey. Higiri, Homei, and the young Shiun—who had all received modest schooling in musical arts and instruments—were particularly excited; after his first recital, the three of them got together with Ryosen and helped him turn his poems into songs. With this development Ryosen finally felt an invisible wall that had separated him from his fellow Domans collapse; he truly felt like one of them and not merely as a person of authority and respect. With this change he felt far more at ease in his mood.

The last night in the caravan—close enough to see the distant settlement but still not so close as to travel a few more hours into the night—was a night where he sang and danced along with a small throng at one of the campfires.

By evening the next day, they had arrived at Revenant’s Toll, and every face shone with anticipation at the prospect at starting their new lives in this small but promising settlement.

Their welcome was warm and kind, and when the representatives entered the Solar of the Rising Stones to meet the unfathomably gentle Leader of the Scions, Lady Minfilia, they knew that they had not just found a new land, but a new home.

* * *

  
  
  



	3. First Steps

*

Yuugiri and her entourage were instantly taken with Minfilia’s gentle and welcoming manner. The sincerity and depth of her compassion for any and all things living was readily evident from the moment they stepped in and found her eagerly waiting to speak to them.

“Oh, you are here at last!” she cried, beaming enthusiastically. “Welcome, welcome, my dear friends, to Revenant’s Toll!” She walked right up to Yuugiri, who was at the head, and grasped her hands in welcome. “You must be Lady Yuugiri? My name is Minfilia Warde, Antecedent of the Scions. It is such a pleasure to finally meet you! I have been kept abreast of your journey, and Alphinaud has told me so much about you all!”

Yuugiri smiled back at the woman, momentarily taking in the kindest eyes she had ever seen, before replying. “We are deeply honored to meet you as well, Lady Antecedent. We are all very grateful for all you have done for us. On behalf of my people, I promise we will repay your kindness in full.”

Minfilia nodded, then turned and gestured to the vacant seats. “Please, sit, and have some refreshments! Make yourselves comfortable. You must be tired from your journey.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Yuugiri bowed again.

The Domans sat down and gratefully accepted the refreshments offered by the kindly little Miqo’te, F'lhaminn: some delicious Spiced Almond Cookies, baked Chicken crisps, and a White Sauce dip made of goat's cheese. For beverages, there was iced peach tea and wine. 

"Did your caravan run into unexpected difficulties?" Minfilia asked. 

"Some," Yuugiri replied. "But nothing we weren't prepared for. There were a few landslides that damaged a few carts but no lives were lost. The weather was a bit rough at times. But the extra supplies we were able to procure thanks to Ryosen-Sama were greatly helpful, and our guards were more than a match for the highwaymen who attempted to waylay us. The escort and other help that the Scions provided is greatly appreciated; all towns and outposts along the way knew to expect us, and were able to help us onwards with just the briefest of delays. On behalf of all of my people, I offer our deepest gratitude."

"It was our pleasure to help," Minfilia smiled. "It always pained me that we weren't able to aid the refugees of Ala Mihgo and the Seventh Umbral Calamity. This time, we could help." 

Yuugiri took a sip of her tea and bowed before continuing. "Ryosen-sama had some details to discuss with Master Slafborn, and sends his apologies for his lateness. It was not his intention to keep you waiting." 

"It is no trouble," Minfilia assured them with a soothing gesture. "Indeed, the Town Council appreciates that your people are already placing themselves at their disposal. The Domans are a most industrious people."

“You are too kind, My Lady.”

“The representatives from the Adventurers’ Guild should arrive soon,” she said. “Pray, tell me a little about Doma while we wait; I haven’t had the opportunity to learn much about your nation before!”

*

They didn’t have to wait long, but Minfillia earnestly thanked Hydaelyn for the precious time she had been granted here with the Domans today. Once the representatives from the Adventurer’s Guild arrived, the introductions were made and pleasantries exchanged, after which they briefly discussed the future of the refugees who would settle in Revenant's Toll; their lodgings, needs, and obligations. Following which, Lady Yuugiri hesitantly asked if she could invite other refugees of Doma to the settlement as well.

Minfillia nodded. “Oh certainly! We have no objections” she said, the Guild Representatives nodding their own assent. “Pray, do so with our blessing.”

“Your answer pleases me My Lady,” Yuugiri said. “But are you certain? There is no telling how many will answer. Revenant’s Toll might not have the resources to accommodate all of us. If that happens, we will need to find an alternative solution.”

“Should that come to pass, then we shall find it together,” Minfilia answered firmly.

With that, the meeting concluded. Sigismund of the Adventurers’ Guild bowed to Minfilia and said “As ever, it has been a pleasure, Antecedent. Alas we must take our leave now.”

“We must leave as well,” Yuugiri said. “We must start getting our people settled in. But Ryosen-sama will come and present himself before you as well, once his discussion with Master Slafborn is finished. He will want to express his gratitude as well.”

With that, her guests all left, and Minfilia was briefly left alone with her thoughts. But ere long, Tataru knocked and said, “My Lady, Master Ryosen is here to see you, and Yda and Papalymo have arrived as well.”

“Please, send them in.”

Papalymo walked in first, followed by Yda who was as usual chatting animatedly with a tall man who could only be the Samurai blademaster Ryosen. Like Yuugiri, he was Au Ra, but the two could not have been more different. Where she was small and petite, he was tall and statuesque. His horns looked much thicker and heavier than hers, and his light scales stood out in contrast to his tawny brown skin. All in all, a magnificent looking man, but it wasn’t his appearance that took Minfilia’s breath away.

It was the Echo’s resonance.

* * *

A small boy of perhaps nine years, whose horns were still stubs above his ears watched breathlessly from his place in a large crowd that had formed around two men with drawn katanas.

No one knew who the two old men were, or what had caused them to draw their blades here on the river bank next to the Shrine to the deity of War. But once they had, the very air around them had become densely charged. Birds and small beasts had been the first to respond to the change; they had fled as though a great, snarling Oni had sprung up amidst them. The dogs had started whimpering and cowered, while horses neighed loudly and had to be calmed.

The people had been the last to notice, but when they had, they all converged around the two men, eager for a spectacle. Duels were common here in Doma, but rarely did the air around them tremble as it did today. 

Time passed and nothing happened; the sun dipped in the horizon; the crowd was growing restless; but neither man moved a muscle. They didn’t so much as flinch. They continued to stand as they had; swords drawn.

They just stood there and stared at each other, each sword’s tip pointed straight at the opponent’s throat. Their expressions were serene; their facial muscles absolutely relaxed. Their wispy, snow white beards fluttered in the breeze, which was not nearly as strong or turbulent as one would have expected it to be.

As the time passed, the crowd began shouting at the men to get on with it. At first, they merely shouted “Begin!” or “What are you waiting for?” or “Fight!”

Then they began to hurl abuses, and a few of the bolder or more foolish ones even threw fruit or fish at them.

But the Au Ra boy continued to watch with bated breath, as silent and intent as either of the swordsmen. With mere minutes of daylight remaining, one of the men twitched, and the air seemed to shift imperceptibly. 

The man who had flinched sheathed his sword and knelt before the other, pressing his forehead against the grassy floor. He had admitted defeat; and his opponent had won.

The crowd jeered angrily at the anticlimactic end and began to disperse, some pausing to spit at the two old men before going on their way.

The stately man next to the Au Ra child shook his head. “I’m sorry, Ryosen. This turned out to be quite the letdown.”

“A letdown?” The child looked at the man who was clearly his father, his eyes shone with stars. He seemed as thrilled as a puppy whose master had finally come home “Father, this was the most beautiful duel I will ever see!”

His father looked down at him with disbelief in his wide eyes, but he wasn’t the only one who heard the child Ryosen. Both swordsmen turned and bowed to the boy, impressed that he had seen what no one else had been meant to. 

The vision turned dark.

* * *

The sun was rising on a beautifully maintained courtyard. The light reflected off the pristine pools of water; bounced off the petals of roses and chrysanthemums and cherry blossoms that danced in the wind; made the green in the leaves appear to come alive. The chirping of birds and insects filled the air, and the gates opened to admit the two old swordsmen who had come calling. They had arrived at dawn and been waiting for an audience with the lord of the estate.

The one to speak first was the victor of the previous day’s standoff. “Thank you for seeing us, Yotsuba- _ dono _ . We are deeply honored. My name is Harada Issei, and my companion is Akaza Shinrokuro.”

“Well met and welcome to my humble estate, Harada- _ san, _ Akaza- _ san _ ,” the Lord Yotsuba replied, politely but with the faintest bite of impatience. He was dressed in silks of red and green. “I remember you both from yesterday’s… performance. Of what did you wish to speak to me?”

The one to answer was Akaza. Nodding at the young child also in attendance, he said “We come to speak about your son, Yotsuba- _ dono _ .”

The lord’s eyes narrowed. “Pray, speak then.”

“Your son has greatly impressed us yesterday; for he witnessed a sight that should have been beyond his ken.”

“You are referring, of course, to yesterday’s ‘duel’?” There was no mistaking the mocking tone in his voice.

“The same,” Akaza said. “For as he exclaimed, there was far more to it than met the eye.” 

“It was a duel fought in our minds,” Harada said. “And in our hearts. A state that we came to achieve after almost six decades of the most intense training.”

The look on Lord Yotsuba’s face as he raised his teacup to his lips was incredulous.

“Akaza and I are longtime friends and rivals,” Harada said. “We have fought, both together and against each other many times in our youth, and many more times since then. Over the years, we have both come to attain great skill of the way of the sword. We attained  _ zanshin _ .”

At this, Lord Yotsuba’s expression underwent a total transformation. It had gone from mocking incredulity to shock. The hands holding the teacup trembled, and his head slowly swivelled from the two old men to his son on his right, then back again. His retainers likewise appeared stunned.

The Lord kept down his cup, and stood up gracefully. “Show me,” he said, extending his arm to a pair of his attendants, who hurried out of the room and returned with two bamboo training swords. One placed a sword in the Lord’s hand, and the other offered it to the old men, both of whom nodded.

The loser of the previous day’s duel, Akaza, accepted the wooden sword, and everyone moved out to the yard. 

The Lord and his guest took up their stance and waited. One of the retainers rang a bell, and the Lord moved with frightening speed. A move almost too fast to follow, and the loud sound of wood on wood rang throughout the courtyard.

But the old man hadn’t appeared to have moved at all. Not even so much as a muscle. He stood just as he had before, in his stance.

But the direction of Lord Yotsuba’s swing had been reversed; the impact of the parry appeared to have jarred his arm, for his sword dropped from trembling fingers.

The elderly swordsman Akaza held out the bamboo sword for the retainer, and bowed. The duel was over.

“Very well,” Lord Yotsuba said, a new respect shining in his eyes. “You have proven your words. What would you have of my son?”

“We wish to take him on as a student. For in the shadow of the shrine to Bishamonten-sama, he proved that he has the spirit of a gifted swordsman. It is a sign. We are to train him to be the successor to our techniques.”

“So be it.”

The vision shifted

* * *

Ryosen stood before Akaza. Where he had been clad in rich garments the day before, he was now dressed in the simple garb of a trainee at the dojo of his new teachers. 

“Welcome to our humble dojo, Ryosen.”

“It is beautiful, Sensei,” Ryosen said, appearing to feel every word.

Akaza inclined his head. “Though we have accepted that you as our successor in spirit, you must train yourself until the strength and skill in your body matches the fire in your spirit.”

“Yes, Sensei.”

“To that end, you will start by training just as any of our other initiates. You will be shown no special treatment, no strikes or rebukes held back. You will train all day, and we will not train you in our secret techniques until you have proven yourself. Not one day sooner.”

* * *

The vision changed again. It became several visions playing in quick succession almost one on top of the other.

Ryosen knelt before his opponent, a child even smaller than himself. His sword had been knocked out of his hand. Tears of shame had sprung out of his eyes at having been beaten by someone half his size. 

Ryosen stood practicing his drills with his classmates.

Ryosen and some of his classmates bonded while flying kites one sunny day. They talked animatedly, shared a pitcher of tea iced by snow from the mountains.

Ryosen and his friends joined some villagers in planting their year’s crop. They picked weeds, ploughed and watered fields, and moved saplings from the nursery like ordinary children did. 

Ryosen, clearly a little older, struggled to keep up with his sparring partner, a girl about his size but probably much older. His skill had improved, but he clearly had a long way to go.

Ryosen and some of his friends watched the stars one pleasant night. They all looked so happy.

Ryosen stood on a very shaky platform, trying to keep his footing while dodging several pendulums.

Time had passed, and Ryosen was practicing footwork for the more advanced forms while standing on the same shaky platform. He seemed to be dancing, and in complete control of his balance despite the poor footing.

His trainer watched with a look of deep satisfaction as Ryosen and a half dozen other advanced students sparred in a free-for-all. Ryosen seemed slightly better than the others.

Ryosen challenged a travelling swordsman to a first blood duel. He beat the veteran handily.

He stood before Harada and Akaza, who were satisfied with his progress and moved him to the class under their direct tutelage. He looked wildly thrilled.

The visions ended here, dissolving into swirling mist.

* * *

“Uhh... what—?” Minfilia came to, head spinning. She was lying down on the couch, her feet on its armrests. Yda and Papalymo’s faces swam before her. Yda was frantically bouncing on the balls of her feet while Papalymo was casting a healing spell. Sounds coming from the cabinet nearby suggested someone was pouring out something to drink; the Samurai Ryosen appeared with a small tray of food and tea in his hands, concern writ strong on his stony face.

“Ohhh!” Yda cried. “You’re awake at last!”

“You had us so worried!” Papalymo exclaimed. “What happened? Was that the Echo?”

“The Echo?” Ryosen asked. “Erika talked a little about it. She said she could sometimes get glimpses of another’s past in the form of visions. Did we just witness the Lady Minfillia having one such?”

“Yes, I had a vision,” Minfilia said weakly. 

“Erika did not mention that it would seem quite so… dramatic.”

“Sometimes it is, sometimes not.” Minfilia said. She tried to gauge how much time had passed but she couldn’t remember seeing the clock after Yuugiri had entered with her Doman refugees.

Papalymo’s sharp eyes missed little, his keen mind filled blanks faster than sound. “Ten minutes,” he said. “But we didn’t call for help. We didn’t want to worry Tataru or the others until we knew something was wrong.”

“Ten minutes,” Minfilia whispered. Good, it hadn’t been long, considering the size and clarity of the vision. She glanced hesitantly at the Samurai. “Forgive me, Ryosen- _ sama _ ,” She said. “I had a glimpse into your past. I witnessed your first steps along the path of the Samurai.”

The tall Au-Ra appeared stunned. Minfilia tried to read his expression but could not see if there was anger there. Not everyone appreciated unexpected peeks into their past.

“I see,” Ryosen said. “I wonder why Hydaelyn would grant you such a vision. It was something of small significance.”

“We believe that the Echo’s purpose is to help us intimately understand the hearts of other people,” Minfilia said. “And understanding where one comes from is important to that goal is it not? That said, I beg your forgiveness for intruding.”

The Samurai shook his head. “There is nothing to forgive, my Lady. I suspect it might happen more often now that I am in the company of so many of Hydaelyn’s Chosen.”

His tone suggested some wariness at the thought, but not anger. “I am grateful for your understanding.”

* * *

  
  



End file.
